


Help Meowt

by Stephanielikes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cats, Gen, Light Angst, Rated teen for swearing, Short Story, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3596946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephanielikes/pseuds/Stephanielikes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel loves cats, and Dean... Dean lo... Dean lov... Dean feels strongly for Castiel, and that's how they got here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Meowt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [its-the-fangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=its-the-fangirl).



                The front left wheel on the shopping cart only grazed the worn linoleum, turning randomly while it rotated, causing the whole thing to veer off if not constantly forced straight. Dean rattled the cart in a frustrated attempt to realign the wheel. Unwittingly, he crumpled the supply list against the handlebar. Dean looked into the flickering fluorescent light above, and sent up a silent plea for patience.

                “I ruff you?” Castiel spoke several feet behind him.

                Smoothing the paper over his thigh, Dean half turned. “What?”

                Cass held up a bubble gum pink dog shirt with lime green print.

                “That’s dog stuff, man. Put it back.” Dean didn’t wait for Castiel to listen before he turned back and reread the wrinkled paper.

                He wasn’t an animal expert, and he was already on edge about the whole ‘a pet is the next step’ crap, so when he looked over the list, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected but something more helpful than what it was.

 

ð        Kitten (<1 year) or Adult (>1 year) cat food

ð        Litter box and liners

ð        Scoopable litter and scoop

ð        Food dish

ð        Water dish

ð        Scratching post

ð        Toys

 

                Awesome. Maybe he could call the shelter up, and suggest they make it broader. Really, they could just write “Supplies” and be as informative.

                “Turns tricks for pets?” Cass read another shirt in that voice that made all his statements sound like questions, and all his questions like accusations. “What does that mean, Dean?”

                Dean joined Cass at the apparel end cap, took the black shirt with frills on the bottom and neon pink lettering on the back from the angel’s hand, and rammed it back onto the overflowing peg, covering one that declared “Sloppy Kisser.”

                “I don’t know. Dog people are weird.” Dean glanced at the fluffy, nutmeg ball of fur curled in the crook of Cass’ elbow. “Let’s get this crap and go.”

                Dean spun around and forced the cart forward with single minded determination; Castiel followed looking around with the wide eyed wonder he beheld all new places, gazing down rows of dog toys as if he were looking across the Grand Canyon. Dean was beginning to doubt this store sold any cat stuff when Cass said:

                “Isn’t Sam a ‘dog person’?”

                Dean could hear the quotation marks.

                “Proving my point, babe.” Dean blushed before he realized what he’d said. He wasn’t ashamed of Cass, or what they had, but he had an aversion to calling attention to relationships that mattered to him. Which he’d tried to explain when they’d argued about it. Sure, Dean had no problem shoving his tongue down any barfly’s throat, but when Castiel took his hand in a dark theater, Dean had jerked away. Now here he was, agreeing to 15 years of penance to prove he was serious about them.

                “Finally.” Dean turned down the cat toy aisle. Sixteen feet long and two sides of six foot tall peg board, every inch hidden by the various packages - triangular mice made of real fur with leather tails, fake fishing rods with disembodied feather lures, carpet covered tubes, and two rows and a 4 foot shelf of what looked like bags and jars of premium hash.

                ‘Real Mouse Squeaks.’ One package said.

                ‘All natural wool!’

                ‘Simulates hunting!’

                ‘Refillable!’

                “Oh god.” Dean swore under his breath. He should’ve suggested they adopt an infant, at least those he half understood. He looked at Cass and relaxed a bit.

                Castiel was crouched in front of the cart, tickling the kitten’s nose with a feather lure. It batted the toy with one tiny paw, turned around and curled back up. Cass frowned.

                “I do not believe he enjoys it.”

                “Nah. He’s still dopey. The guy said the shots would make him sluggish for a few days, right?” Dean squeezed Cass’ shoulder to reassure him, and put the fishing rod in their cart.

                They made it out of toys by Dean urging Cass to pick what he thought would be fun to play with if Castiel were a cat. A variety pack of balls and fabric mice, the fishing rod, an S-shaped scratching board, a furry cat rattle the company called a Kick-a-Roo, and Dean’s only contribution: a large plastic donut with a ball in it that he’d spent two minutes getting to fly through the track with a satisfying whir.

                Their next challenge turned out to be litter and accessories, but they overcame. Dean insisted on a covered box, with replaceable carbon filters and a plastic flap door. Liners and scoop made by the same company that made the box. Dean assumed they were a better quality than the store brand; they were more expensive at any rate. Castiel nearly derailed the whole mission when he pointed out the automatic box, but the store didn’t carry the cover and Dean wouldn’t give in.

                Litter was even easier. The list said scoopable, so anything that didn’t explicitly state scoopable on its packaging was out. After Dean saw one that said ‘odour control’ that became a second requirement, and narrowed their choices down to three. Dean picked the biggest container of the only one that didn’t smell like old lady perfume.

                Dean’s patience wore thin when the cart veered wildly as he tried to turn into the next aisle. The bumper rammed into the bottom shelf of bowls. Dean threw his hands up.

                “Piece of crap!”

                “Is that strictly necessary?”

                “What? Are you thinking the cat’s going to repeat it?”

                Cass turned to look at the dishes. His face a mask. Dean mentally kicked himself. The angel nodded at a pair of ceramic bowls shaped like fish kissing.

                “How do you feel about those?”

                “Great, if you want them.”

                “Or do you think we should get an elevated set?” Castiel cocked his head at a set of stainless steel dishes in a matching holder.

                “Whatever makes you happy.”

                “It would make me happy if you participated.”

                Dean groaned. “Look, man, we’re gonna dump food and water in them. As long as it isn’t going on the floor, I don’t care which ones we get.”

                “That is not the point, Dean. You said we were doing this together.”

                “We are.”

                “You occupying space near me while I shop is not together.”

                “Well, sometimes, when two people do things together, one is more invested and one doesn’t give a damn which bowls we buy.”

                Castiel frowned, and stared at Dean like a dog solving a puzzle.

                “You should never have suggested we get a cat.”

                “What?”

                “You were attempting to allay my fears.”

                “Come on-“

                “I should have seen that.”

                “That’s not –“

                “I believed you wanted to strengthen our romantic bond.”

                “Of course-“

                “That was my mistake.”

                “Dude.”

                “We’ll stop now. Put it all back. You don’t want him, and I don’t want this to be a point of resentment between us. It’s not fair to us, and it’s not fair to him.”

                The angel’s voice cracked and Dean took his chance.

                “What is with the Data/Lore mood swings, Cass? I know.” Dean held up a mollifying hand. “The grace thing. I get it. But I helped with the litter stuff. We sat at the shelter for three hours picking out just the right one. I want to do this, and I want to do it with you.” Dean smiled at his own joke. Cass stared unmoved. “Let’s just get the ugly fish bowls and move on.”

                Castiel glared. “You want it to happen; you just don’t want to be apart of it.”

                Dean gave an exaggerated eye roll, stopping midway. He pointed at the top shelf.

                “That’s the one.”

                Cass followed Dean’s finger.

                _Diamond Series Elite Automatic Pet Feeding Station,_ the box declared. Reaching over Cass, Dean pulled one down.

                “Gravity reservoir ensures your pet stays hydrated. Holds up to 5 pounds dry kibble. Program to dispense perfect portions 1, 2, 4 or 6 times per day. Plays your personalized recorded message each time food is released.” Dean smiled up at Cass, and was met with that damned unreadable stare.

                “Your effort to convince me of your commitment is to pick a dish that does all the work?”

                Dean sighed. It was at the point where no matter what he did, it would be wrong.

                “I’m not trying to shirk responsibility. I’m planning for the future. What happens when we’re out hunting? It’s still got to eat, right?”

                Something shifted behind Castiel’s eyes, and he nodded. Dean put the Maserati of cat bowls into the cart and backed out of the aisle.

                “But we also get the automatic litter box.”

                Dean gaped. That shit just played him like a golden fiddle.

                “Fine, but we stop at Home Depot and get an air filter or something.”

                “Deal.” Cass smiled brightly. Definitely a melted emotion chip in that one.

                “Alright, let’s grab food and we’ll make the switch on the way to pay.” Dean angled the cart to move forward. He’d hoped the increasing weight would make it easier to steer, but it did its best to thwart him.

                “I won’t forget.”

                “I know.”

                They turned the corner. The closest and the furthest gondolas were 10 feet high, between them two center ones stood half as tall. The aisle stretched back thirty feet or more, plus the back wall, and every square inch of shelf space was filled with different brands, styles, and flavours of cat food.

                The pit of Dean’s stomach turned with familiar dread. Research. In five minutes, he and Cass would be huddled over a phone screen flipping through result after result of what exactly the hell they should feed their little addition. They’d have to wade through all the crazy, too. He’d seen the type of psychotic people got arguing over creatures they didn’t believe actually existed. He couldn’t imagine what they were like for creatures that were considered family. Soon he wouldn’t have to imagine. Dean couldn’t delude himself into thinking they’d figure it out on their own, but he could delay. Hunching his shoulders, Dean gave the necessarily heavy push to move the cart forward.

                Rather than rattle and give into the roll, the gimp wheel seized. The momentum tilted the carriage and it crashed into a display of canned food. The cans cascaded down. Tin after tin thunked into the floor, and rolled away. Cass sucked air over his teeth. Their kitten whined. Dean’s face burned. He blinked.

                “Fucking, Cum Gargling, Piss Rag, Piece of Shit. Douche!” Dean let go of words. He shook the cart, and when the rage didn’t subside, he kicked it. It shuttered forward. Dean snarled, stormed to it. He’d flip it over and tear the wheel off. Might as well not have it at all.

                “Dean!” Castiel’s voice raised and shocked.

                Dean froze. His knuckles white as he gripped the handlebar. Dean stepped back. He turned, and smiled sheepishly.

                “It’s fine. Would you - Please, would you get us a different cart?” Cass stared. “Please? I’ll pick this up.” Dean gestured at the fallen cans. He hated when they looked at him like that, with fear. “Cass…”

                “I’ll be right back.” Castiel swept away; his trench coat almost sounded like wings.

                Dean breathed and knelt on the ground. He shoved cans willy-nilly on the shelf paying no attention to brand or flavour as long as they stacked. A replacement cart rolled into his peripheral. Dean looked up, and apology on his lips, but it wasn’t Cass.

                “I’ll be done in a second.” Dean sped up.

                The associate with the cart looked at his stacking and cringed. She knelt down with him, and, together, they finished getting the floor cleared.

                “Sorry. My, uh. My…” Dean waved in the direction Castiel went, wondering what was taking so long. “Went to get another cart.”

                “Mr. Bright Eyes? I met him on the way here. I was already bringing you a new cart. I was over here when you hit the bowls.”

                “Oh.”

                “He was right behind me.” She looked around and shrugged. “Maybe something caught his eye?”

                “Probably saw someone about to buy the last automatic litter box.”

                She laughed. “There’s more in the back.”

                “Thanks for your help,” Dean sought her name tag, “Cathy.”

                “No problem.” Cathy walked to the broken cart, and collected the toys. “Surprisingly, they pay me to do it.”

                They moved the rest of Dean’s items into the new carriage.

                “First time pet parent?”

                “That obvious?”

                “What? No. No.” She laughed easily. “It’s only – most experienced owners don’t cling to the care sheet like a lifeline.”

                Dean looked at the paper in his right hand, crumpled tightly.

                “Do they pay you enough to help pick out food?” Dean asked as Cathy popped the old cart onto its two back wheels and pulled it from the aisle.

                “Yes, but only just.”

                “That’s fine. You point and I’ll buy.”

                “Oh no, sir.”

                “No?”

                “Nope. I didn’t take a two hour online training course to point. You think they let anyone be a pet feed expert?” Cathy tapped the titled under her name. “I’ll educate you, and you can make an informed purchase.”

                “Fair warning: I’m going to buy whichever food you suggest, even if I’m informed.”

                “That’s fine, as long as you remember which brand it is.”

                “That’s important?”

                “Of course it is. Once I’m done with you, you’ll understand.”

                “Do your thing then.”

                “Alright. Pay attention now, because if you stumble in here in a month, and ask for ‘the kitten food in the pink bag’” She did the air quotes “I can’t be held responsible for what I do. All kitten food comes in a pink bag.”

                Dean thought he’d zone out during the nutrient spiel, but Cathy kept it short and to the point. Once he’d gotten the food, he made her go over all the other items, and fill in any gaps. She explained, and coached the whole time. It was the difference between a tutorial and a textbook. Dean always got more from tutorials.

                Castiel still hadn’t wandered back by the time Dean let Cathy go. Dean returned to the litter boxes, honestly expecting Cass to be standing guard. When Dean found the aisle empty, he switched out the box and liners he’d picked for the one’s Cass wanted, then continued his search.

                Where the hell could Cass have gone? It was a pet store. Not exactly Costco in the square footage.

                Dean’s mobile was in his hand when he heard Castiel’s deep chuckle from the seasonal section. He slid the phone back in his pocket, and headed to the familiar rumble.

                Castiel sat cross legged in the middle of the lane. His lap full of discarded pet clothes. The shirt he held up read “Fresh from the Catwalk.” Their kitten laid next to Cass spread out on his side, defeated, wearing a tiny plaid shirt. It picked its head up off the tile, and looked at Dean with large, hopeful gooseberry eyes.

                “Take it off.”

                Cass jumped, and caught the kitten as it made a break for it.

                “He’s part of the family now.” Cass held the kitten out for Dean to admire. It mewled pathetically.

                “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” Dean punctuated each word for emphasis.

                “They’re for cats too.” Cass defended his actions. “I asked.”

                “It doesn’t need clothes. It has fur.” Dean rescued the kitten from Cass, and began extracting it from the shirt. “I got food, and a brush, and nail clippers, and a bed.”

                “I see.”

                “The woman said we shouldn’t let it sleep with us. Apparently animals move around, and cause people to do mini-wake ups or some shit. Christ, did you glue this on? Anyway. They ruin your sleep even if you don’t remember it. And I need my three hours, so I don’t think we should let it in the bedroom. I mean, we can’t keep it off the bed if we’re asleep, right?”

                Dean finally managed to get the shirt and kitten separated. The poor thing hung limp in his arm, fluffed and disgruntled. Dean held the shirt out for Cass to take. Castiel looked up at Dean. Dean shook the shirt impatiently. Cass broke into a wide smile.

                “What?”

                “Nothing.”

                “What?” Dean demanded.

                “I think I have always loved you,” Cass started with his blunt matter-of-fact tone, “but there are times when it is so strong I have to smile, or risk crying.”

                Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Pick up the clothes and let’s go home.” He turned to go pay.

                “As you wish.”

                Dean glanced back. Cass still smiled. Damn Metatron for filling Cass with pop culture references.

                “I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

                “Yes. It does.”

                Dean shrugged. Looking his angel straight in the eyes, he said, “As you wish,” and went to the registers smiling as he recalled the pink on Cass’ cheeks, and the little shocked ‘Oh’ on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> written with the prompt: "Destiel #35 "You heard me. Take. It. Off." (in regards to a stupid looking accessory on their pet. [like a halloween jacket that's been on the dog for a week now. Idk.)"
> 
> The ending will make way more sense if you have a working knowledge of The Princess Bride. I generally assume everyone does, but just in cases.


End file.
